Sacrifice
by Dimfuin
Summary: All the books say about Aragorn when he heals Faramir is that he appeared tired. What were HIS thoughts as he battled for the one who was almost lost?


**A/N:** My thanks to Arlewen, who was such a sweetheart and betad (?) this for me. Superman Aragorns unite! Lol;-)

It has been a loooong time since I last posted, so hopefully you all still know me! I believe this is the first ever non-Faramir story that I have posted on this site! Amazing, huh? And yes, Faramir IS in it...I just couldn't have a story TOTALLY devoid of him, now could I?

Yes, I do own The Lord of the Rings and all of the characters therein. If you wish to borrow them, please drop me an email or ask politely in the review section. I will consider your application and respond to you forthwith.

**Sacrifice**

_By Dimfuin_

It has been a long day. More than a long day...a long week. A long month...a long year?

It has been a long life, really.

From the time I was born until now, about the only thing I can remember clearly is how tired I have been, and how I have longed for peace. That peace which still evades me, even in the city I was born to rule. I cannot rest, for there are some that, if I do not attend to them right now, will die. I cannot allow them to die, no matter what it does to my physical and mental state.

I have not slept at all during the past three days, and little before that. I think my last full rest was in Lorien, and we all know how long ago that was! It seems even longer...a lifetime ago, at least. The story of my life.

And now I am entering the city, met with curious and, at times, openly hostile, looks. Who do they think I am? What fantasies and speculations play through their minds as they look at me, clad only in a dark cloak. I bear a green gem on my breast, it is true, but I have taken care to cover it well with my cloak. I have no intention of showing these people who I am, yet. They are like children, and must be handled carefully. If I were to spring my return on them suddenly, with no warning, they would doubtless be shocked and reeling, especially after the battle that has just been won. A few may know---some of the more discerning will most likely guess it---but on the whole I will keep my secret and ask that others do too. When the time comes the people will chose me for themselves.

And now I must enter these dwellings and heal those within. I pray that the struggle will not be too hard, for I am weary. I will not admit it to others (though they may see it on my face, try as I might to hide it) but inside I admit freely that I am bone weary. I will not allow myself to wish for real rest, for that is foolishness at this time, but if I could have but a few hours of sleep...

No, I shall not think of that. If I allow my mind to wander, I will not be much use to those within. Faramir, they say, is gravely wounded. Gandalf has not told me much about him nor his father, but from what little Boromir said and what Gandalf has dropped, I can gather that he is a man wise beyond his years. What a blessing, and when I am King (if that should ever be) I will need him. I find myself wondering how it that he is so severely wounded, and my heart tells me it is an area that is sad and troubled.

The room I enter is small and crowded already with those known to the art of healing hovering around the bedside of the sick man. I take a second to look at him long and hard, and I am not happy with what I see. Well, let me clarify. My heart swells with the noble look of the man, and I see through the grime and illness to the character that is etched so clearly on his face. Here is a man, who though like his brother, is of a different temperament and of more wisdom. And yet my heart tells me that here also is a man who has been misused. I look closer, seeing the signs of pain and weariness so great that I at once know this is not going to be easy. And yet what is? I am tired, so tired, and I do not even want to think about what others will require my aid.

Eomer urges me to rest and nourish myself, but I shake my head wearily; there is no time to waste, especially for Faramir. The Rohirrim maid and Merry have at least a few more hours, but Faramir is on the brink of death now. I must overcome my weariness and focus on the task ahead. Athelas will help him, and, I admit, myself as well.

Upon getting the old maidservant Ioreth to find some athelas, I set my cloak aside and roll up my sleeves. As gently as possible to reduce the risk of shock, I put my hand onto Faramir's forehead and allow myself to ascertain the state he is in.

Not good.

His fever has been raging for hours now, and I begin to fully realize the skill this is going to take. And in the deepest corner of my heart, I ask myself why I am going to do this for a complete stranger. _Not a stranger_, I think staunchly. _He is Boromir's brother, and one of my people. I must save him, if it is the last thing I do._

But it is not from a Nazgûl that this wound came, for he would have died that night. More so from pain, grief, weariness (he might not have slept for days in this accursed age) and above all, the Black Breath. Well I know how damaging that can be to one who is already weakened and tired. And my heart whispers gently, _He has given up his will to live._ That, above all of the rest, is why he is dying now. His story I have only heard hints of, but I can imagine his pain.

With a gulp of air, I kneel beside his bed, steadying myself as the room pitches a little. _There will be enough time for weakness **after** this is over,_ I tell myself sternly. I focus my mind with an effort on the task ahead and place my hand on his brow once more. For a minute all is the same, and then darkness swirls around my mind and I enter into his world...the world of pain and shadows.

A wall of weariness slams into me full force, and I feel myself reeling backward, threatened to fall back into the world of the living; with a huge effort I stop myself and take a firm grip with my feet. _I should not have attempted this while so tired_, I think vaguely, but there is no alternative. I am here, and it is now or never. There are no second chances and I will not lose Faramir. If I can but get past the initial shock...

There, that's better. I am bone weary but I can walk about now. The swirling shadows could hide anything in here, and I immediately guard myself. I must find Faramir and rescue him from whatever memories and darkness is holding him captive.

"Faramir!" I call as loudly as I can, my voice echoing through the cavernous place. I reach out with my senses, trying to feel where he is. He must be here somewhere, for weak though he is, he is not dead. Yet.

"Faramir!" I call again, throwing myself into the delirium full force, totally losing myself in the shifting shadows. Patterns that look like clouds are floating past, voices whispering in my ear sweet words that I have not heard for a long time...

_There_ he is. I turn to the left and call again, louder, "Faramir!!"

Somewhere over there a voice replies with a weak cry, and I hurry toward it with all of my strength and will. Things become brighter, and I am happy until I see what they are. Flames.

"Faramir!" I cry, shielding myself from the unbearable heat with my hands. "Where are you!"

"Here!" he cries, his voice barely a gasp. "Help me..."

"Faramir," I say carefully, making sure he can hear every word, "You must stop the flames. It is up to you. You are weak, but I know you can do it! Reach out your hand to me."

There is no reply, and frantically I call out, "Faramir! Lasto beth nin, talo dun galad!"

Through the shadows and flickers of flames, I see a man huddled into a ball in a corner. He shakes with fright, but at the sound of the elvish he reaches out his hand slowly, ever so slowly, and cries out as it touches flames. "You must reach out!" I yell, and then I realize that I must as well. There is no way for him to reach me from where he sits. More energy on my part is needed, and I honestly doubt I have it, but if he, near death, has enough will power I must too.

"Reach, Faramir!" I cry, and I thrust my hand through the flames, biting my lip so hard I can taste blood. He calls out again, and I make the final lunge and grab his hand. Eru, the pain of this...

As I knew would happen, the flames slowly melt away, for I will not let go of his arm which I have grasped. He sags against me, and I look up to see that we are standing in a cool forest with trees surrounding us. I breathe a sigh of relief and ease his limp form down to the ground. Then I allow my mind to slowly return to the present.

The room is stuffy as I come back to it, and my head feels light, though now I can breathe deeply. How much time I have spent in the shadow-world I do not know...ten minutes, perhaps? It seemed like an eternity.

As I hear Bergil running in I open my eyes gently, knowing the light when it hits my eyes will send me reeling. I hope they cannot see the weariness on my face, for the room is dipping and spinning, and I honestly do not think I can get up. But the boy has athelas, and if I can but reach it and cast it into the steaming water strength will return to me as well as Faramir. With a gulp, I force my hand to take the plant and hold it before me as I breathe gently on it and crush it. A healer holds out a bowl of steaming water and I cast it into it with a murmured blessing.

Instantly the room is filled with freshness, and I feel my cheeks tingle as the life returns to them suddenly. Strength floods my tired body, and I feel again as if I can go on and keep healing. I hold the bowl in front of the man I have just rescued, and his eyelids flicker open.

He looks up at me, and somehow (I am not sure how for he cannot have seen me clearly in the world I rescued him from) he knows my face and understands who I am. "My lord, you called me. What does the king command?"

I smile at him and see the respect and love in his eyes. "Walk no more in shadows, but awake!" I reply gently. There are others present in the room, but neither of us acknowledge them. And Faramir will heal, I see as I look into his eyes. The shadows have laid claim to him for a while, but he has shaken them, and eventually, he will be free of them completely. He is a man that I will enjoy having about me as a counselor, and I feel already as if I know him.

As I straighten, a sudden thought pops into my head that makes me smile: Faramir and Èowyn. What a perfect match they are! They balance each other so well. I send a quick prayer up to Eru, asking that they be allowed to find each other, and in doing so, find peace.

Èowyn...

My weariness returns suddenly at the thought of healing another patient, but I know I cannot stop now. Others need me. Others will always need me, and though I am only human, I must do all I can. As I leave the room, I catch a whiff of athelas and think of all the most beautiful things in the world.

I must admit that, right now, those things could be summed up in a warm bed and a soft pillow. Visions of Lorien and Rivendell arise in my mind, and the ever present picture I have kept safe in my mind of my lady-love, Arwen. When she comes, I will know that all is truly right and at peace.

But right now, I have more patients to heal and battles to strategize. Eru give me strength, for I cannot do this on my own.

And I know he will.

The End


End file.
